


Of Skeletons and Their Ways

by Kamerun



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:03:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamerun/pseuds/Kamerun
Summary: The Hope and Savior of all Monsterkind has died.However, Sans the Skeleton refused to accept this is their final fate.





	1. What The Night Had Wrought

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was given to me by an anonymous poster on the Undertale General Discussion board on 4chan.  
> Please bear in mind this is a work in progress, as this is only a small fraction of the tale I intend to tell.

It was a frosty Saturday night. There were no birds singing, nor any flowers blooming. It was on quiet evenings like these that kids all around the world would be safely tucked away in their beds, dreaming of what could be. Sans never thought that on such a quiet and peaceful night, an old friend would be outside in the cold, slowly drifting away to the worried chattering of two old drunks. They had, unbeknownst to Sans, struck Frisk with their car, and while debating amongst themselves on what to do, decided that manslaughter was not a charge either of them was willing to face. Sans slept well that night, the night Frisk died, dreaming of what could be, but never dreaming of a world without Frisk.

Sans awoke Sunday morning to Papyrus gone, his bed strangely unmade, and 17 missed calls from Toriel. Hastily, he called back. He was answered in less than a single ring.

“hey tori, whats-”

Sans stopped. There was sobbing on the other end. Sure, there was some clattering, chattering, and general background noise, but very faintly, just above a whisper, was the low, hollow sound of suppressed sobbing.

“tori?”

 A few moments passed. Then a few more. A single sniffle. A composed sigh. A Queen then spoke.

“Sans, please come to the community hospital. There has been a...” There was a pause. “terrible tragedy.” Another brief yet reserved sob.

“ok” was all he could reply.

Quicker than he had known himself to be brought to motion, it was but a few seconds before he had found himself at the front of the community hospital. The whole place had a mixed atmosphere; that of pain, and that of healing; that of desperation, and that of hope; that of incomprehensible sadness, and that of pure, unquestionable joy. He rushed through the hallways, past preoccupied nurses, doctors, and visitors. Down the hall a ways, Sans spotted a human priest and Father Alvin giving their well wishes to a dejected Asgore. There were tears in Asgore’s eyes, and a solemn look to match.

Sans slowly staggered his way into the room which Asgore had passed back into. Peeking in slightly, he found Asgore and Toriel embracing, both gently crying in one corner, and Papyrus and Undyne in another, holding each other. Papyrus was visibly distraught, but it appeared as though he had shed all the tears he was able to give. Undyne appeared aloof, yet even behind this disguise, Sans could see the rage in her eyes.

Upon stepping in the hospital room fully, all eyes turned to him. None spoke. On the hospital bed, there laid the figure of a broken child. Sans could not help but to lower his head in cruel understanding of what he had slept through. Even still, he said nothing. Toriel, still clinging to Asgore, spoke first.

“The doctor said Frisk was hit by a car early this morning.” She sniffled. “An-And that whoever was responsible-” 

“Whoever was responsible left them to Die.”

The world became a blur as the facts began to become clear to him. In the corner of his field of view, he saw Papyrus attempting to comfort Undyne, something or other about it not being her fault. She stormed out of the room, furious. Papyrus ran after her. Sans only stood there, studying the body. Even now, no tears came to his eye sockets. Nothing came to him. No words, no heartfelt emotions, nothing. He simply stood there for a long while.

It was late in the morning when Sans arrived at the hospital, but well into the night when he came back to his senses. He was seated in one of the chairs in the room with Toriel, both of them staring emptily into the floor.

“They said they were going to pick flowers,” she shuttered. “That they would be back before nightfall.”

Her hands were now raised up to her face, her whole mass bent over as she slowly and carefully explained to Sans what had happened.

“Then, I get a knock on the door in the middle of the night.”

Frisk looked as though all the life had fled from their body.

“Undyne was on the beat when she happened upon the body, and quickly brought them home.”

So calm, so serene, so peaceful. The stillness of the moment weighed heavily on Sans, who just continued to stare at them.

“I called Asgore as soon as I was conscious enough to understand what had happened. He had arrived within minutes."

No warmth was felt on their face, nor was there any colouration, aside from wounds and scratches, the blood of which has since dried.

“No magic would work, and after a brief discussion, it was decided that we would take them to the hospital.”

Sans found it hard not to stare, but it was something about the lifeless corpse which piqued his imagination. Perhaps it was just a premonition, but he had an idea. Maybe a thought of an idea, or just a delusion, but in that instance, Sans had a plan.

“I called you on the way there, but you did not answer. We stayed up all night, waiting and praying for Frisk to make it, but…”

She trailed off, lost in thought. Regret, even. Reminiscence would be a better word for it. A pained expression crossed over her downtrodden face, that of one who has suffered much, and still suffers. She looked at Sans with a mixed expression. Grief, pain, loss, and regret, but also acceptance, patience, and, most concerning, scorn.

“I never was very good at keeping my children alive.”

She let out a long, exasperated sigh, slowly stood up, and softly walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Sans had an idea.


	2. Mortal Woes

It was late. There was a knock on the door.

“Excuse me, mister, eh, skeleton, sir, eh…”

It was an old man in a white coat, a doctor he assumed. 

“Visitation hours are over, and, eh, well,” he paused, considering his words, mulling it over for a few moments, “people might be, eh, frightened by a skeleton walkin’ around a hospital at night.”

Sans glared at the man. He could tell both of his own eyes were dark, which explained the sudden change in the man’s voice, but still had the sense to understand the man’s concerns.

He quickly changed the mood. Grinning, as he always does, he leans back from his slumped-over position in the chair, hands behind his skull. 

“sorry, doc. you know how it is, sometimes y’just…” He racked his empty mind for a quip or a pun or anything to lighten the mood, but nothing came to him. The old man nodded slowly, as he had many hundreds of times before. 

Sans broke the silence, “don’t s’pose i couldn’t have just’a few more minutes with the kid?” 

Doctor Asclepius, as according to his name tag, took a quick peek at his watch, stole a glance down the hallway, looked back at Sans, then the bed, then sighed aloud. 

“I don’t suppose you know how long you’ll be?”

Sans could see the stress of life weighing down on the good doctor. He pondered just telling the man to leave, but that would only rouse suspicion. Maybe ask for another hour? He thinks he would need at least that much time, but that would be asking too much. If he left now, he would have to break into the hospital later, and that’s not what he wants to put this man though. 

He decided on a shrug. “nah, i better go now.” Grinning as he always does, he stands up, stretching. “i would hate to spook anyone, i’ll see myself out.”

Before Doctor Asclepius could ask anything, the chair he was just staring at was vacant. He’s known of monsters for as long as anyone else, but that right there was the first skeleton he’s ever seen. He thought nothing more of it - he thinks - as he has shared more than a lifetime of conversation with ghosts of the past. He pulls a hip flask out of his back pocket, takes a swig, and closes the door. 

Sans had the courtesy of waiting a few extra seconds before reappearing, just in case the man stayed longer than he had expected. As he lifted himself out of the chair, he heard a click from the other side of the door. The hallway lights were dimmed moments later. The distant beeping of machinery and quiet footsteps outside slowly getting dimmer made the whole world much quieter than it needed to be. He walked over to the side of the bed nearest to him, and took Frisk’s cold hand into his own hard, equally cold hand, lacing his phalanges through their fingers. He said nothing for a long while, only occasionally glancing away from Frisk to make sure nobody was outside the door. 

“so no resets, huh?” There was no response. Just more empty staring. “i thought for sure you would. just waiting for somethin’ that wouldn’t come…” Nothing. “it ain’t fun, kiddo.”

There was a click from the door. Sans didn’t bother moving. When the lights came on, a different voice, one of a young woman, gasped. Sans, in his most friendly tone, was quick to ease tension. 

“whelp, guess you caught me hand in hand.” There was no reaction, so he finally turned around. He waved his free hand at a rather small-looking woman, who only stood there, staring right back. She wore a dark red scrubs, tennis shoes,  Fear was in her eyes. “this is the part where you tell me your name,” to which she hastily replied

“Keres,” she paused, “and you shouldn’t be here.” Her gaze shifted from fear to mild annoyance. “I thought skeletons were supposed to haunt graveyards or something.” She scanned Sans for a moment before she stepped into the room, towing a gurney behind her. “Look buddy, I’m just here for the body. Just let me do my job.” 

Her tone was soft, but assertive. Sans still didn’t move. “what’re you gonna do?”

“Hopefully, whenever you decide to move, I’ll be taking your friend here down to the morgue.” She gestured towards the bed. Sans relinquished his hold on Frisk’s hand before leaning back in the chair again, arms folded behind his skull. She got to work, hoisting the small corpse onto the gurney, bed sheets and all, covering it all with a white linen cloth before turning to leave the room. She stopped just as she was about to step into the hallway. “So are you just going to stand there or come with me? I’m sure my boss already told you visitation hours are over.”

Sans, surprised at this sudden offer, but got up anyways. His hands in his hoodie pockets, he followed at a brisk pace. Keres closed and locked the door, glaring at Sans while doing it, before asking him to put his hood over his skull. He complied. They walked down the length of the hallway before turning to face an elevator. The only button was down. 

It was a quiet night. He tried to strike up conversation with the nurse, but every time she shut him down with an disinterested, albeit courteous look that Sans read as her ‘please stop talking’ look. The elevator ride felt longer than it really was, but the pair soon found themselves walking down another hallway, through some double doors, and into a room with a metal table, a wall with lines of swinging hatches, and, amusingly, a couch. Sans wasted no time setting himself down, still sitting up because he was curious, but still comfortable. Ignoring him, Keres lifted the stiff mass that was laying down and placed it inside one of the tubes running into the wall. She closed it, latching it shut. When all was done, she looked at Sans, still visibly tired and annoyed, and shook her head slightly. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“what’s in there?”

“It’s a place to keep the bodies so they don’t start to stink. In the meantime, the family will decide what’s done with the remains.”

“what’re ya gonna do with it till then?”

“Lock it up here so it doesn’t come back to ask for a nicer bed.” She started walking towards the light switch. “Some of us still have beds to go home to.”

She spoke as if she had been asked these questions thousands of times. Her tone was still disinterested, her eyes never leaving Sans. He didn’t feel any hostility, but he got the message. 

“which way’s out?”

“I doubt you need my direction.” And with that, she turned of the lights, opened the door into the hallway, and entered the elevator. She did not look back to see if he was following, but something told Sans she didn’t care. He turned the lights back on, and found a small sliver key laying on the cold metal table in the center of the room. It fit the lock Frisk was held behind. 

He didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or mortified. 


	3. Dubious Practices

They small silver key fit easily into the lock. It slid out, slowly, and in the dark of the night, Sans could discern Frisk’s body. He lifted the body, linens and all, from the metal tube to the couch. There was no need for the metal table. Their body was stone cold, thanks to them being dead for just about a day, rather than their brief refrigeration. It was an unnatural cold, like that of a stone left under snow, or dish left in the fridge. It was almost like they emanated cold. 

It still perplexed Sans why they didn’t just reset. It would have been easier for them, anyways. Wasn’t that all that mattered? He could suppose that the happy life they were all living would be worth saving, but couldn’t they have reached the same point through restarting? At least then they could have prevented their own death. 

None of that mattered now. 

Sans left the room, and within moments of leaving, returned in a similar fashion, this time holding an old, very warn, practically falling apart, what could be called from a certain perspective, a book. Whatever held it together was unknown to even the most astute observer. Sans didn’t even have a clue what forces bound the book and its ancient words together. What he did remember was that it was the way skeletons were made. 

It was an ancient kind of magic, the kind that normal monsters could not perform without the aid of some sort of vessel for strong magic. In the days before the Great War, it could have been a weapon, it could have been an amulet, it could have been a book. Regardless of the vessel, it was a way for extremely potent energies and magical properties to be manifested. The dusty old tome Sans now held had long ago been imbued with the power to control life and death. Or, at least, that was what he had gathered from the years of translating the ancient symbols the tome contained. He does not quite remember where he got it from, but it has always been in his possession. He opened to a page he had booked marked. He read exhaustively over the procedure to reincarnate a skeleton from a cadaver, but he had never had good reason to do so before. 

His reason was laid before him. He figured, at the very least, he could get some answers, and at the most, return a loved one to those he cared about. 

Sans leveled the book down to his chest, and, after reading over the precise lines for the hundredth time that night, began chanting the incantation. 

He did not fully understand the text, but he got the general idea. In short, he was asking the powers that be, bony as they may be, to preserve the good of the spirit within the body, and to affix itself within the structure, that being the skeleton. 

It took a full hour for the spell to be cast. Halfway through, there was an eerie glow coming from the book. It was not a glow of light, but like a fog of grey, seeping out of the pages and the binding. It filled the room. There was a sudden change in air pressure, the humidity increased, and the stench of death putrefied the room. He did not pause, but kept on. As soon as he had finished the last incantation, the room instantly went back to normal. The fog had receded back into the book, the glow was absent, and all was quiet. The stillness was unsettling. 

There was no movement. No breath. Nothing. 

“shit.”

“NO, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Sans snapped around to see the worried eye sockets of Papyrus staring right back at him. Gently, he smiled at his brother, concerned expression notwithstanding. “Y-you… You didn’t say it right!” Sans did not hear him come in - he must have snuck in while he was chanting incantations. 

Moments later, and after some debate, the brothers each agreed on a translation that seemed like it would work. Sans again chanted the new version, every word with the proper pacing and everything, but the story was the same: fog, glow, humid, pressure, dissipation. Papyrus tried it, and the same thing occurred. 

Just for good measure, they tried it together, simultaneously, for a fourth time. The results were the same. It was nearly daybreak by the time Sans had given up trying to read more to understand, and Papyrus gone to sleep on the examination table. He figured he ought to just take the body with him back to his house, but it felt wrong. What he was doing already felt wrong, like he was violating some principle of self-determination he had yet to fully grasp. 

Discouraged, he followed his brother’s lead, and fell asleep on the opposite end of the couch. It never occurred to him to put the body back. After all, hospitals still work on Sunday mornings. Perhaps he would see Keres and have to explain his situation to her, but he didn't really care. 

When morning eventually did come, Sans did not expect to be awoken by a tap on the skull. 

"Hey buddy, you know this couch is for employees only, right?" Keres' smug look drifted to the examination table. "And, uh, your friend there looks a bit beyond examination, if you ask me."

Sans chucked, but stopped dead when he did not see Frisk, their body or otherwise, on the other end of the couch. Papyrus drowsily opened his eye lights, and, seeing the stranger, exclaimed "GREETINGS, HUMAN LADY!" Before she could respond, Doctor Asclepius came into the room, holding what looked like a rather-large bundle of linen sheets over his shoulder. "GREETINGS, HUMAN ELDER!" 

"Eh, morning, skeleton guy," Asclepius slurred his words slightly, winced at the bright morgue lights, and then glared at Sans. "You, eh, you think you're funny, eh? Some kind of wise guy, huh?" He gently laid out the rapped linens on the examination table, now that Papyrus was up, and turned to leave. "Next time I ask you to leave, please take your friends with you. Nearly gave Old Man Mordecai a heart attack!" He paused on his way out of the room. "Eh, well, another one, that is." 

Sans, Papyrus, and Keres all inched their ways towards the lump of cloth. Looking at each other in bemusement, Keres eventually spoke up, "What do you two know about this?" To which they both shrugged in unison. 

The look on her face was priceless when the bundle began move and sigh. 


	4. Questions and Admissions

As the white linens fell to the floor, Sans, Keres, and Papyrus all stood in awe. Before them was a small skeleton, draped in the white cloth, staring right back at them. From what was visible, the small skeleton looked no different from any other skeleton; compared to Sans, the small skeleton was both thinner and taller, albeit not by much, and had a head that was noticeably more human. The skull at first glance seemed like any other human skull, but if one was to take a long glance, it appeared to be more defined and graceful - unnatural might be a better word for it.

Papyrus stared at the small skeleton, then quickly looked back at Sans, whose eyes were black and empty. Then, looking at Keres, who just stared at the now moving, conscious, awake, _moving_ skeleton, he himself decided to join in on the staring.

Sans did not know what to expect at this point. Sure, he had made sure to try everything in his power to skeletonize Frisk, but when it was all over, a part of him was glad that he had failed. But now, looking down at what couldn’t be anything but Frisk’s resurrected skeleton, he felt anxious. He had a plan, sure, but he didn’t exactly think this far ahead. Making eye contact with the small skeleton, he began to communicate in the way that only skeletons could do so with each other.

In his Font, he said “heya, kiddo. how’re ya feelin’?” His font was Comic Sans, of course, and Papyrus’ was Papyrus, naturally. He had avoided referring to the skeleton as ‘Frisk’ because it donned on him that the monster he was staring at was not Frisk, but their skeleton.

What he knew was this: newly created skeletons knew almost nothing of their past lives. While their fate or dying moments might be retained if they were especially traumatic or memorable, this was often not the case. The soul of the creature who had their skeleton resurrected, if they were a human, shed all of its color and would appear white - pure and unblemished. It was a clean slate. Sans could hardly remember his childhood, nevertheless his past life. The same went for Papyrus. Sans figured the best way to figure out what he was dealing with was to just talk to them. It would become clear soon enough, he thought to himself.

He could not help but panic a bit, not realizing or understanding exactly _why_ he skeletonized Frisk. And then he thought of what everyone else would think once they realized this was his doing. And then he thought of what Toriel would think once she realized this was his doing. And then he thought of what his dad would think once he realized his Tome of Resurrection - one of the few left existing in the world - was missing. He tried to push all these thoughts to the back of his mind. It didn’t work very well, so he tried instead to focus on the task at hand.

“uh, kid, you there?” Sans was starting to worry. He couldn’t remember how language and font developed for new skeletons. He read as much of the tome as he could, but he couldn’t make out most of it. Just then, the small skeleton made a noise. It was like a low rattling. They were shaking. Within the eye sockets of the skeleton on the examination table, a dim white glow began to fill a point within the skull. A point of light began to dimly illuminate. They were waking up, maybe? The small white points of light in either socket began to move about, taking in the world around them. One by one, Sans, Papyrus, and Keres were all thoroughly scanned.

Keres was the first to speak. “Alright boys, what’s all this about, huh?” Her face was flushed with fright. Her eyes were wide, occasionally blinking rapidly, perhaps thinking she was dreaming. She did not move, only stare. In a sing-song voice, she whined “Come on fellas, what the fuck’s going on here? I want an explanation, now, please? This is freakin-”

Keres was cut short when she began to scream as the small skeleton hopped off the examination table, and started towards her. She backed away rapidly, seeking cover behind Sans. Clutching firmly to his humerus and clavicle, she shouted “FUCKING DO SOMETHING LAZY PIECE OF SHIT” before Papyrus walked over to her and took her by the forearm, saying “Come, Human Lady! My brother will take care of this!” and, picking her up in her entirety, began hauling her off into a nearby office room.

The small skeleton did nothing for a moment. Then, tilting its head, it looked at Sans.

“Who are you?”

Sans did not move or make any attempt to answer. He was thinking.

The skeleton looked down at itself, investigating its arms. “Who am I?”

The small skeleton was thoroughly wrapped all over in linens, like a mummy with no flesh. Fitting, he thought, better than wearing nothing. He was intrigued to note that the small skeleton’s font was Calibri. Recalling from the old tome, he knew that that was that, as a skeleton’s font was final. Thinking of what to tell this skeletal monster, but not knowing what to say or how to say it, Sans just thought of sticking to telling it like it is, as it was asked.

“your font is calibri, so your name is probably calibri, or cali, or bri, or something like that. i dunno, up to you i guess.”

The small skeleton looked at him, searching for something.

“Alright then, Calibri it is.” There was a pause. “Calibri. Does it mean anything?”

Sans pondered a moment on how to best answer the question.

“nah, that’s just what your font looks like and what you sound like.”

Calibri was inquisitive now. Assuming that the short squat skeleton that stood in front of her knew all the answers, she kept the questions coming.

“Who are you?”

“sans. sans the skeleton. you can tell by my font, you know?”

Calibri processed this statement. Dimming her eyes, then lighting them again, she appeared to comprehend whatever Sans was talking about.

“Where… where am I?” Calibri began looking around the room she was in. She noticed the examination table and walked over to it, feeling at the rags that bound her in a bundle a moment ago.

“well, you’re in a morgue. you kinda died in your past life.” Sans decided not to divulge too much information at once, and to let the kid figure things out as they asked for information specifically.

“Why can’t I remember anything?”

“just one of the side effects of being resurrected. hardly any skeletons know what they were before they got skeletonized.”

Calibri looked around some more. Then, eyeing up Sans, she walked up to him and began investigating closer. She took up his hand and set it against hers. A mitten hid his hand bones from hers, but the form and size were similar.

She asked, “Skeletonized?” while going about investigating herself and bits of Sans. She took a grasp of a phalanx and, with effortlessly swift motion, detached it from the rest of her hand. Looking not the slightest bit concerned, she placed the limp phalanx back into place, upon which she wiggled it about.

“skeletonized. ya know, turned into a skeleton? pretty self explanatory.”

Calibri scowled at Sans, who just stood there smiling as he always does. He put up no resistance when she lifted his arm and pulled up his hoodie sleeve.

“Did you do that, Sans?”

Silence.

“Sans, did you create me?”

Sans just looked at his slippers.

“yeah, kinda.”

“What do you mean ‘kinda’? Why’d you turn me into a skeleton? What was I? How do I know you? What-” She stopped when Sans put his index distal on her teeth.

“one at a time. i know you’re curious and anxious to figure out what you are, but i can’t answer all your questions at once. it’ll make my job of explaining things to you easier.”

She seemed to relax a bit. Finding the couch, she sat down and folded her hands together. Attentively, she continued.

“Who are you.” She said it as more of a command than a question, but aside from the mild hostility towards this unknown entity, she meant what she said.

“i told you, i’m-”

“No, who are you to me.”

“another skeleton, i guess?”

“Listen smart-ass, I didn’t just get brought back from being dead because you wanted another friend to play with. Why’d you do it?” Her tone was serious and stern, as though she was upset. If that were the case, her looks betrayed her intentions.

Sans sighed. “hey, uh, can you do me a favor and ask a less complicated question? i’m gonna be honest with you, don't worry, but i feel like you’re asking the wrong questions, and in the wrong order.” That definitely annoyed her, but she resigned from pushing the subject further.

“Alright then. Simple, huh?” She pondered for a moment. “Ok, how about what I am? I mean, we look like skeletons, but regular skeletons don’t move and communicate and have identity crises.”

Sans sighed again. “i said simple, kid. well, no, we’re skeletons, but we’re monster skeletons. yes, i did resurrect you, and yes, you were a human, and we’ll get back to that later, but to answer your question, its because you still have a soul.” She looked confused and said nothing, expecting elaboration. Sans sighed, again. “the spells and incantations i made were to bind the shell of your human soul to your physical skeleton. its... complicated how it all works, but the important part is that you are a monster, you have a soul, it is attached to your skeleton, which is you, and you’re magical. we all are. i don’t know what you can do yet, but i’m sure we’ll figure it out soon.”

She crossed her arms over her wrapped rib cage. “Why do I know what words mean, but I can’t remember who I was?”

“look kid, i didn’t write the book on any of this shit, ok? all i know is that i knew your past life, we were pretty good friends, although it was kinda complicated. you died, all your loved ones were sad, so i thought ‘hey, why don’t i try to fix this?’ but now that it's all said and done, i…”

He stopped, realizing what he was about to say. But it was too late.

“You regret making me, don’t you.”

There was silence, again. From the other room, Papyrus could be heard trying to distract Keres with some board game. Glancing to his right, he could see into the office they were in. They were playing chess. Keres still looked agitated, but that could be because Papyrus was pretty good at chess, as opposed to still reeling from seeing a dead kid walk. Glancing back at Calibri, Sans noticed she was no longer scowling at him, but instead just gazing longingly at the floor.

Unbeknownst to Sans until now, skeletons were capable of shedding tears.


	5. Thoughts of Existance

Calibri composed herself, but not till after a few tears had already made their ways down her cheekbone. Her empty skull was busy thinking of all the questions she still had, unanswered, and perhaps never to be answered. Waves of anxiety, followed by fear and occasionally confusion, would roll their way over her. The manner in which she now felt things, and of feeling things -  _ anything  _ \- was new to her. She could not comprehend it, and in the end, she decided she did not want to comprehend it. Had she been able to recall her living memory, she would have been terrified of how cold she felt, how breath no longer escaped her chest, how blood no longer found its way around her skin. 

She took stock of herself. Sans peered on, but did nothing to aid or prevent her from having a crisis of being. 

She felt things. This did not make sense to her. Her bones and phalanges and skull all felt things. The coarse linens she remained wrapped in brushed against her as she moved about. She could feel the fabric as she rubbed it between her distals. It was light, thin, coarse, and cold. Taking a length of cloth, she began to brush it gently against her cheekbone, drying off the remains of what felt like water. It was warm, as though her tears were as real and as physical as her bones, yet there existed no anatomical structure capable of producing tears.

She tried not to think about it too hard. 

Despite being brainless, she could still conduct thought. Despite having no skin, she could feel and determine the temperature, texture, and form of objects. Despite no eyes, she could see all that was around her. Even in parts of the room where there existed no light, she felt as though she could clearly see. Despite the lack of a tongue, lungs, and lips, she was still able to communicate, make sounds, murmur, control her own volume, and sigh. 

To sigh was a relief to her, as she felt it could express so much of what she was feeling without actually saying anything. Anxiety, concern, fear, awe, confusion, distress, interest, understanding, and, hopefully, relief. 

Calibri wrapped her arms around her narrow frame. Despite still being taller than Sans by about a foot, she felt small and exposed. Out of nervous tick, or perhaps from habit, she struck her index distal lightly on her collarbone at a rapid rhythmic pace. She was deep in thought, as seemed to be her default. Processing the impossible did not come easily, as she believed herself to be rational and straightforward; nothing made sense and she was complicated as to what anything was. 

It was not as though she had much experience with existing, but she felt deep within herself the conviction of wanting logic and answers. Certainty. Form and exactness. No unnecessary complications. No extravagant explanations. She craved a cool and collected simplicity in a way that was easy or reasonable to understand and comprehend. 

She had none of that. 

“what’re ya thinkin’ about?”

Calibri turned to face Sans, who remained standing, hands in his hoodie pockets, staring blankly at the floor, his grin feeling more neutral than genuine. He did not make eye contact - or, at least, what she would have assumed to be eye contact, if they had eyes. 

“I don’t know.” There was a pause. She tried to think of something to say, maybe a question to ask, but nothing immediately came to mind. “I have so many questions, but I can’t think of how to ask any of them. I don’t even think half of them have answers,” she let her voice trail off. 

“welp, might as well try.” Calibri looked at Sans in confusion. He sat himself at the other end of the couch, within arms length of her, and folded his arms behind his head as he reclined into the sofa. “go ahead, ask me somethin’, i might know the answer.”

Unsure of herself, she continued to tap her collarbone. The pacing and rhythm increased with her volume, and would speed up when she was about to ask him another question, and slow down with listening, and vary in pace and rhythm depending on her train of thought. 

“Why do I feel?” She stopped to think about her own question. “Why do we feel  _ anything _ ?”

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then closed his eye sockets again. 

“hmm. nope, couldn’t tell ya.”

Unsatisfied, she pondered for a moment. Her thoughts ran over themselves; she could not recall what had already been disclosed to her or what she had already asked. 

The sound of Papyrus and Keres laughing in the other room brought a new question to the forefront of her mind. 

“If you can see my font, and hear me, then what do humans perceive of me when I try to communicate to them?”

“they hear you. that’s about it. i met this one guy who thought he could hear a difference in font, but i just think that’s ‘cause he pap and i sound different.”

The echoes of Papyrus’ cackling rang throughout the morgue. Keres, in response, gave her own suppressed giggling. Soon after, the dull and indiscernible sounds of conversation returned between them. 

“What about sleeping? Food? Water? Basic survival things? Do we need any of that?”

“we can do without any of that, but, y’know, life’s easier with them.”

“So we  _ can _ sleep?”

“i’d be sleeping right now if it were up to me.”

Calibri smiled at this. 

“food is not required, but sometimes it feels nice to drink some ketchup and eat some spaghetti.”

Calibri giggled at the specificity. Sans, noticing, grinned back, and elaborated. 

“i mean, don't get me wrong, pap makes a killer plate of pasta, and i, uh, y’know, enjoy ketchup.”

For some reason, this bit of nonsensical, irrelevant, personal information warmed her spirits. 

Warmed her spirits. 

“Why do I feel warm on the inside? Aren’t we like, you know, dead?”

It was Sans turn to look confused. He grinned. 

“what makes you think we’re dead?” He chuckled, genuinely tickled at whatever Calibri could not find so funny about it. She did not ask for an explanation, as she felt she knew what he was talking about. 

“dead people don’t have souls, y’know. we do. you’re probably talkin’ about your soul, but i’ve never heard another skeleton call it ‘warmth’ before. D’you know wh-”

He was quickly cut off by an excited Calibri.    
“There are other skeletons?” Her tone was excited and joyful, if not perhaps a bit expectant of the implied answer. “How many others?” Her hands were clasped together, seemingly unable to contain her happiness. After a sorrowful glance from Sans, she calmed down, curious. 

“i don’t suppose you know much history, do you?”

She cocked her head to the side. “I remember about the last hour. Before that, it’s all new to me.” There was a pause. “Why? What happened? Should I know?”

Sans hunched himself forward, the ends of his humeri on his femurs and his phalanges tapping softly on his jawbone. He peered up at a clock on the wall; It was midmorning, quarter past ten. He figured now was as good a time as any for a history lesson. 

“i’ll give you the short version.”

Calibri nodded in anticipation. 

In a similar manner that one sighs after stretching, Sans leaned back and began to call back from memory the history lessons that his father insisted he pay attention to. 

“when the war broke out between humans and monsters, the skeletons were the first to be whipped out.”

Sans remained composed, although he kept his face down. The past seemed to weigh heavily upon him. 

“only a couple survived. they kept fighting alongside the other monsters, but eventually, there was only one left that made it to the underground.”

Calibri remained quiet and reserved, paying close attention herself. 

“that one skeleton was a great man, who escaped time and time again from the dangers the humans posed. he was the last one of them, before he made pap and i.”

He paused. 

“and, uh, i kinda stole his book to make you, so you’ll probably get to meet him in a few days.”

“Who’s he to you?”

Sans thought for a moment. “he doesn’t like it when pap and i call him ‘dad’, ‘ding-dong’ or just ‘Gaster’, so we usually just call him doc. he’s the one that made us, so he’s our dad in a way, i guess.” He shrugged with his hands returning to his hoodie pockets. “never gave it much thought. it just kinda is what it is, y’know?”

Calibri let those words sink in. Sans seemed to not very bothered by the uncertainty of his origins, or various facts of life, unexplainable and incomprehensible. It occurred to her that a great majority of things might be just the way it is, with no further reasoning needed. It did not sit well with her, but it was an unavoidable truth in the matter. 

Keres, followed by Papyrus, came into the room. Sans, taking note of her presence, quipped at her. 

“has my bro brought back your sanity? you looked like you might be joining us here.” A cacophony of chuckling came from the other skeletons. Keres gave an playfully scornful look, hands on her hips. 

“Careful now, or I might remember to take the key with me when I put you in a body bag and stuff you in the wall.” As though it was an afterthought, she added “Yeah, I think I’ve my wits about me now. You gotta understand, I work with them once they’re actually dead. That shit’s more than I could handle being surprised with.” She looked at Calibri. “No offence, kid.”

The skeleton only nodded in response, understanding a bit more every minute the circumstances she would be in for the foreseeable future. 

Keres frowned at Calibri, scanning her form. 

“How about some actual clothes?” 


End file.
